"You think too much of death, too little of life. What if a thousand
more are killed--ten thousand--in the end it will be worth it."
"It will never be worth it. There will never be an end. The theory has
always been wrong, faultily premised."
"You fool!" the old man cried. "You damned, blasted young fool. You
can't go in there!"
"I'm going, sir. Let go."
"I won't let you go in."
The boy pulled his arm free and reached for the doorknob. The old man
seized him again and yanked him off balance. The boy muttered angrily,
set himself and thrust the old man back. There was a flailing blur
of motion and a cry from the girl. She left the window, ran across
the room and thrust herself between the two. And in that instant she
screamed again and stepped back. The boy sagged gently to the floor,
his mouth opened to an O of astonishment. He tried to speak and then
relaxed. The girl dropped to her knees alongside him and tried to get
his head on her lap. Then she stopped.
That was all. No shot or anything. I caught a glimpse of a metallic
barrel in the old man's hand as he hovered frantically over the dead
boy. He cried: "I only meant to--I--" and kept on whimpering.
After a while the girl turned her head as though it weighed a ton, and
looked up. Her face was suddenly frostbitten. In dull tones she said:
"Go away, father."
The old man said: "I only--" His lips continued to twitch, but he made
no sound.
The girl picked up the portfolio and got to her feet. Without glancing
again at her father, she opened the doors, stepped in and closed them
behind her with a soft click. The debating voices broke off at the
sight of her. She walked to the head of the table, set the portfolio
down, opened it and took out a sheaf of type-script. Then she looked at
the amazed men who were seated around the table gaping at her.
She said: "I regret to inform the stabilizers that Mr. Steven Wilder
has been unavoidably detained. As his fiancée and co-worker, however, I
have been delegated to carry on his mission and present his evidence to
the committee--" She paused and went rigid, fighting for control.
One of the stabilizers said: "Thank you. Will you give your evidence,
Miss ... Miss?"
"Barbara Leeds."
"Thank you, Miss Leeds. Will you continue?"
With the gray ashes of a voice she went on: "We are heartily in favor
of S. R. 930 prohibiting any further experimentation in atomic energy
dynamics. All such experiments have been based on--almost inspired by
the FitzJohn axioms and mathematic. The catastrophic detonations which
have resulted must invariably result since the basic premises are
incorrect. We shall prove that the backbone of FitzJohn's equations is
entirely in error. I speak of
i = (b/a) π i e/μ..."
She glanced at the notes, hesitated for an instant, and then continued:
"FitzJohn's errors are most easily pointed out if we consider the Leeds
Derivations involving transfinite cardinals--"
The tragic voice droned on.